As I get older, I tend to find that I reflect more and more on specific things that are pleasant and wonderful remembrances from my past. Often enough, these seem to revolve around specific times of the year.

With school starting back in Gaston County this week, I naturally harkened back to those thrilling days of yesteryear when I, too, went to school.

Of my 12 years in school, the fondest of these were the five I spent at Sacred Heart Grade School in Belmont. I went there from the fourth grade to the eighth, which was the highest grade they had. And I would’ve gone earlier except there was a waiting list to get in.

At Sacred Heart, which was run by the Sisters of Mercy, the boys had to wear white dress shirts and ties with SHS embroidered on them, blue dress pants and Sunday go-to-meeting shoes. And the girls didn’t fare much better in their plaid jumpers.

Upon my arrival, I was introduced to Ms. Sherry Boggs, my teacher. I noted that each classroom in our school had a blackboard in front, above which a wooden crucifix hung in the center. The American flag hung patriotically to one side.

I was then given instructions on behavior, which included standing in class anytime an adult visitor was introduced to us and saying, “Good morning,” or “Good afternoon, Mr. or Ms ...” whomever it happened to be. Or Sister.

Ah, the sisters. Being a protestant child, I’d never seen or heard of them before. Unless you count “The Flying Nun.” And I don’t.

I wasn’t afraid of them, mind you, but I learned real quick not to cross them.

My brother, Tommy, on the other hand, was petrified. He was three years younger than me and enrolled in the first-grade classroom of Sister Mary Kathleen McNamara, R.S.M. And bless Tommy’s heart, when he walked into that classroom and saw Sister Kathleen standing there ramrod straight and dressed in black from head to toe, he almost died.

The only woman Tommy had ever seen who wore black from head to toe was the Wicked Witch of the West. And he was terrified of her. So much so that one time, my momma made a noise like a witch and Tommy almost passed out. Even a commercial that used to run back then where a witch cackled and said, “Hi, I’m the Sandwitch!” would send him screaming down the hall.

Now, here comes poor Tommy to the first grade, only to find himself in what he now thought to be the clutches of a wicked witch.

Tommy was so scared he ran a temperature, threw up, and had a conniption fit every morning when momma drug him out the car kicking and screaming into that school. They even took him to the doctor, who couldn’t find anything wrong with him.

Page 2 of 2 - But it didn’t take Tommy long to fall in love with Sister Kathleen. The two hit it off and became the best of friends. And she even brought him an Irish wool sweater home when she visited her homeland that summer.

Our whole family fell in love with Sister Kathleen, too. A more devout Christian never lived. And we stayed close through the years. Laurie and I named our daughter Kathleen in her honor.

We lost Kathleen about 12 years back. She lived into her late 90s. We lost Tommy on Jan. 9, 2013. He was in his early 40s.

And tomorrow morning as the school bells ring in this part of the country, I’ll fondly remember them both.